Shifting Shadows
by SerenLyall
Summary: A journey across Caradhras in the dead of winter proves to be disastrous for both Elves and Men. With the lives of many of their kindred hanging in the balance, including that of Atanatar the young prince of Gondor, and also the Lord of Rivendell, it turns into a race not only against the mountain and its pernicious moods, but also against time itself. (Teitho prompt "Mountains")
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Lord of the Rings, and all recognizable characters herein do not belong to me. They belong to the Tolkien Estate and their respective owners, and I make no profit from the writing of this.

**Warnings:** peril, graphic in the violent sort

**Time frame:** 488 of the Third Age

**A/N:** This was an answer to the Teitho prompt "Mountains," wherein it tied for third place. I have broken it up into four chapters total, for it was too long to be an appropriate oneshot, and the way in which the story was told was truly in a chapter formatting. If you get too anxious to finish it, however, you can find the story in its entirety on the Teitho site, under the tab "Mountains." Many thanks to Mirnava for beta'ing.

I would love some feedback, even if it's a simple "I liked it." Hearing what you (the readers) think really helps me as a writer, both to know what you like as an audience, as well as how to improve my writing. The next chapter will be uploaded in four days (although you could probably convince me to update sooner...) For anyone waiting for updates on my other WIP, I can assure you that they are coming. Writing this story really murdered me (I wrote something like 8500 words in 24 hours), and I've had a hard time getting back into the flow of writing. I hope that this will be able to tide you over until such a time as I am able to finish my other updates.

Enjoy!

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_**~Chapter 1~**_

He was lying down. Or was he lying up? He couldn't tell. Which way even was up? Which way was down? Was there even any direction any longer, or had he fallen into a bottomless abyss in which he would fall for an eternity? But if he was falling, that would mean that there was an up and a down, and he could not sense either.

His head hurt. Ai Elbereth, his head hurt. It pounded in time with his heart, a steady throbbing echoing through his skull and down into his spine. Everywhere – he hurt everywhere. When he tried to breathe his chest refused to expand, sharp lances of pain digging into his flesh and into his lungs.

He couldn't move, he realized a moment later. He couldn't even feel his arms and his legs. They were trapped, bound by some invisible thread that, no matter how hard he struggled and strained, he could not seem to break.

It was dark all around him, but somehow not the darkness of the abyss. Rather it was the chill blue light of depth, of darkness. It was the light of a slow death and of distilled fear. He blinked, trying to bring something – anything – into focus, something other than the all-pervasive blue light that suffused the air and covered the walls in dripping light and dark. He couldn't; he couldn't focus, couldn't shake away the blurred veil that clung to his eyes and masked his sight.

At last he gave up his attempts as his head began to ache more acutely, the throbbing slowly morphing into a spike being driven agonizingly through the base of his neck, up through his skull, and then out of his forehead.

He closed his eyes. If all he could do was strain and fight a losing battle against the blue blur, then he would simply not fight. He would deny the pain and the hopelessness its victory. He would rest, just for a moment.

Exhaustion as deep as bone swept over him unexpectedly, very nearly stealing away his breath. He felt as if he was sinking, a thick black cloak smothering him, wrapping him in tangling folds that he could not extricate himself from.

He could only struggle for an instant and then he was relaxing, unable and unwilling to fight the warmth that filled his body. He had not even realized he was cold. A breath of air escaped his lips, and he sank down into the comforting embrace of the darkness…

_**Careful there, Skinner.**_

A voice tore through the peaceful silence so violently that Elrond flinched, winced in pain, and opened his eyes. He glanced around, searching for the source of the voice that had torn him so abruptly from the sleep that had promised warmth and comfort.

_**Now, now Skinner, we can't have any of that, now can we?**_ _A chuckle, as deep as the roots of the mountains, and as fey as lightning lancing through the sky; a chuckle, and then two yellow eyes, pupils mere vertical slits that were as dark and endless as the abyss blinking into existence mere inches from Elrond's face. __**Hello there, Skinner.**_

If he was in the habit of screaming, Elrond would have done so. As it was, he jerked his head away, only for his skull to smash into something very hard, very cold, and very painful an instant later, sending a new spike of pain through his head. His breath froze in his lungs as his entire body reacted to the fresh onslaught of pain, and for an instant he could see nothing but shadow as he blacked out.

Then the black world was bleeding back to blue and grey _and yellow eyes. But now Elrond could see more than just the eyes – he could just make out a blurred shape hovering above him – or perhaps it was crouching above him. And splitting the shadow just beneath the eyes was a wide grin – a grin filled with needle-pointed teeth that fit together like gears on a torturer's wheel._

_**Good boy, Skinner**__. The grin widened and the teeth parted, and a chuckle poured from the mouth, rolling and tumbling and trembling, filling the air until it quivered and quaked. __**Good boy.**__ A clawed hand unfurled from the shadows, the ivory talons that protruded from the being's fingertips gleaming silver in the blue light. It reached down and ran its palm down the side of Elrond's cheek, curved nails digging into his numbed flesh._

Elrond tried to jerk his head away from the feel of his numbed flesh being sliced open, but his body was frozen. He twitched, turning his face away, _sending the claws trailing through his hair, the fingertips pulling through the soaked and tangled strands until they hit the hard earth beneath him._

_ The creature leered at him, the glistening teeth catching the unsettling light as they clicked together. It leaned over him, like a looming wall of shadow that obliterated all light, swallowing it whole into its darkness. The eyes came closer, never-blinking and glowing pale yellow in the darkness. And then a tongue of flame – or was it a serpent with ruby eyes? – flickered out and over the teeth, slithering over the fangs with the faintest __hiss__._

Elrond fought to keep himself calm, even as he struggled to move his arms, his hands, anything that he could fight with. But still, the invisible threads bound him still, holding him a prisoner _as the shadows fell over him, around him, until the very darkness itself was leaning over him, smothering him, until he couldn't even see the blue-grey light of cold that had pervaded the world. He somehow found this worse._

_ The chuckle came again, rumbling through the air, shaking his very bones until it felt as if the very sound itself was pressing down on him, covering him, boring into his head and heart and very soul and smothering him. _He could not breathe, could not even struggle as his head keened_ and his eyes locked to those pale yellow lights split with black slits._ And then his body struggled, shuddering as the need to breathe overwhelmed the pain. He felt his chest expand slightly _but the darkness of the beast towering over him pressed down, like a wall of living shadow that lay on him, crushing him. He bared his teeth in a silent snarl, soundlessly defying the shadow in any way he could _as his body forced his chest to expand, despite the creeping, numbing pain, despite the acidic sting in mouth and throat. And he forced his lungs to take in air.

_And there came that chuckle yet again, that chuckle that shook the air, running through the light like the pounding waterfall that tumbles in a mist to the pool below. Without warning, the dark beast drew back, _and like a flood, the blue light returned, flooding into Elrond's senses like a crashing wave. But the wave was more than light, for with the light came a fresh onslaught of terrible agony – agony which Elrond only then realized had begun to abate as the darkness had closed over him.

_And there, there came that grin again, and yellow eyes blazed in a sea of sifting shadow. A flick of the serpent – or was it the thing's tongue? – and a hiss. __**You think that you can fight me?**__ The rumble of words through the air, through the earth, through his very bones. The chuckle rose to a high, keening laugh, and it sounded like a thousand wolves howling in time to a screeching mob of crows, which sang counterpoint to the crying of the winter winds. If he could have, Elrond would have covered his ears to block out the horrific sound – a sound that made him feel as if his eardrums were bleeding. __**I admire your spirit, Skinner**__. Hiss and flick – and was that the beast's tongue, or a venomous viper that lay coiled in its mouth?__** I shall make a deal with you – a game, if you will.**__ The smile widened, and the serpent tongue flickered again._

_**So long as you stay awake, Skinner**__, flicker hiss, __**I shall not eat you. But as soon as you sleep, or fall unconscious – as soon as you succumb to your pain or your fatigue – you are mine.**__ Flicker hiss, and the tongue slithered across the teeth in an anticipatory gesture. __**Then you will be mine for an eternity.**_

~oOo~

Cruston, son of Arthon, second captain of the King's Guard, halted and pulled his heavy, fur-lined cloak tighter about his shoulders in a vain attempt to block the bitter wind's plucking fingers. He shivered slightly, and quickly looked over his shoulder, eyes sweeping the bleak white and grey mountain slope beneath him.

His men moved slowly up the mountain behind him, spread out into a long, sweeping line that stretched more than a thousand paces across. They were dark shadows against the pristine white of the thick snow – snow broken only by the occasional finger of stone or icy ridge – and the wind tugged at them, sending their cloaks snapping, and their hair rustling, despite hoods having been drawn down tightly over foreheads.

Cruston heard the gentle tap of paws on snow, and he looked up. A large hound, her shaggy winter coat damp and the fringe of her belly fur glistening with ice crystals, was trotting toward him, nose lifted high in the air, and eyes gleaming intelligently. Behind her came another figure, this one taller and moving over the snow with greater grace than even the dog had managed. Dark hair tossed in the wind, bound only by two simple braids – one on either side of the temple to hold the hair out of the warrior's face – and held by neither hood nor helm. The Elf also wore no cloak, although his tunic and breeches were lined with fur, and his boots were laced tightly up his calves, and gleamed with waterproofing oil.

Cruston bowed his head respectfully as Galchyl approached. The Captain of Imladris returned the gesture, halting a few paces down the slope from the Man, his piercing blue gaze sweeping across the windswept landscape before coming to settle on Cruston's face. The hound sat down at his side, head still lifted proudly, fur rustling in the wind, and ears pricked, listening.

"We have swept the lower slopes thoroughly," Galchyl said, his lyrical voice slicing effortlessly through the grumble of the wind.

"And there is no sign of them?" Cruston asked, although he already knew the answer.

"Nay," Galchyl said simply, answering nevertheless. His gaze flickered up the mountain slope, and he regarded the snowfield with cold calculation. He was as still, and his face as emotionless as a carven statue, but for the wind tugging relentlessly at his raven hair and dark blue tunic.

"They should have made it at least this far," Cruston said, desperate to break the unnerving shroud of silence that had fallen, and fighting to keep the chill from racing up his back at the sight of the Elf standing motionless before him, hound crouched at his side, as if he had been transformed into stone.

Galchyl turned, and regarded Cruston with the same cool intensity as he had the land. "The mountain changes many things, both true and perceived," he told Cruston, "and this mountain more than most. We will find them, for even _this_ mountain knows not to hold our lords captive." He canted his head to one side. "Especially this mountain, I think."

A second chill prickled up Cruston's spine. That was the most that he had ever heard the Captain speak at one time, and the Elf's hauntingly lilting voice gave his already strange words an even more surreal sense.

"We will keep searching," Cruston said gruffly. "They are here," he added savagely.

Galchyl nodded once. "My men and I will go to the Lower Pass, and work our way down towards you," he announced. Cruston nodded in agreement, unwilling to counter the Elf captain's plans.

Galchyl swept around Cruston without another word, only curtly nodding his head by way of a farewell. The hound rose and bounded after him. Galchyl looked over his shoulder once, and made a hand motion that Cruston could not quite make out. Glancing over his own shoulder, however, Cruston caught sight of two dozen Elves, all dressed in similar garb as their Captain's, loping easily across the snow as they ran up the slope to join Galchyl. Three more hounds ran with them, tails streaming out behind their bodies like plumes, paws sending up small spurts of powdery snow.

As the Elves disappeared over the ridge, Cruston turned completely to signal to his own men – a fist lifted to eye-level, then a sweep of his palm in a circle and up toward the crest of the slope, indicating that they were to search unto the ridge, and then halt. Fists were raised in response, acknowledging the command.

Cruston watched for just a moment more, holding his cloak tightly about his shoulders, and stamping his feet in the snowshoes. Then, turning, he began to trudge up the slope once more, eyes scanning back and forth, searching for any sign of hidden tracks, unusual hillocks, or shifting snow – any indication of something buried beneath the snow's surface.

~oOo~

Galchyl watched his men as they came toward him up the slope, unblinking despite the biting wind and the prick of granules of ice and snow that struck his face. The wind tore at his long hair, sending the raven locks spilling around his shoulders in a tangled tumble. The cold dug at his face and neck – the only two parts of his body exposed to the frigid air – and he fought a small shiver.

The first of his men drew near, halting just a few paces down the slope from him to wait for the rest of their companions. Galchyl blinked once, sweeping his gaze over his gathering men, taking in the worry and confusion marking their eyes. Little other emotion showed on their faces, however – they were too well trained.

"We go the Lower Pass," Galchyl informed them, once the last two had joined the silent ranks. "We will begin the search anew there."

Arfaron, one of Galchyl's lieutenants, stepped forward, the hound at his side mirroring his movement. "Sir, if I may," he hesitated, awaiting Galchyl's curt nod, "why do we go to the Low Pass? We lose precious time that could be used for searching, and surely did not make it that far?"

Galchyl took a moment to reply. Cruston had not dared to question him; and truth be told, now that he was challenged, he found had no definitive answer. The wind gusted harder, sending a prickle of a chill down Galchyl's spine, a gesture which did nothing to aid in his thinking. It swirled, agitated and uneasy all about the company, whispering and keening alike, as if in agony.

"The wind," he said suddenly, although no less steadily or more abrupt than ever, meeting Arfaron's gaze, before taking all of his men into his address. "Can you not feel its unease?" The Elves shifted, all now listening to the wind as it keened.

Galchyl turned. "Come," he bade, and began to ascend the slope, feet running lightly overtop the snow in an easy lope, his hound bounding at his side. A single glance over his shoulder showed him that his men were following.

Galchyl led the Elves higher into the mountain, the peak ever looming grey and forbidding above them, the ominous sky thickening darkly. Soon the snowfields gave way to bare, ice-slickened rock that rose above the drowning snowdrifts, heralding the beginning of the cliffs that marked the Heights.

Higher – ever higher the Elves ran, tracing the invisible paths of the mountain as what little light in the sky began to fade, the afternoon waning. The paths cut deep into the cliffs, twisting up the stone walls until often there was little more than a three-pace ledge that separated stone from a deadly drop, a grand view of the lower slopes opening below them. The small, moving figures of Cruston's men were only just visible, like ants scurrying back and forth across a table.

Around one final turn, and then the path opened up onto a wide plateau. Cliffs marched along the far side of the field of white, rising dark with shadow cast by the mountain peak which towered almost directly overhead. Yet off to the left, it appeared that a cleft had been chiseled through cliff wall, the stone that towered overhead forming unclosed arches over the narrow gap, and the walls sheer and hung with icicles and clinging clumps of frozen snow. Grey sky was just visible through the gash, beyond where the ground dropped away. They had come to the Lower Pass.

The plateau itself, however, was what had drawn the Elves' gazes as soon as they had come to the top of the cliff. The normally smooth land, even in the dead of winter, was littered with debris – tree branches and stones, among other things so pulverized that they were indistinguishable – and the snow clumped and uneven.

Galchyl stepped forward, ignoring the shifting of the snow beneath his feet, treading slowly, cautiously, eyes scanning back and forth as he took in the slivers of shadow that jutted above the snow's surface. Looking, searching, his stomach tightened and his heart thudded painfully in his chest. He knew not what he expected to find, nor even what he hoped to find, but he could not shake the feeling that their search was, at long last, coming to an end. His men followed slowly, stretching out into a long line behind him.

A dagger-like branch pierced the snow to Galchyl's right, like the broken rib of a dragon – if a dragon's bone was black, and all hung with icicles. The needles had been stripped from the branch, leaving the skeleton naked. Galchyl passed by it, although his eyes lingered on it for a moment longer.

Galchyl turned back to the front just in time to see his hound bound ahead. Galchyl frowned but let her go, knowing that she would not go far, and hoping that she may be able to find something.

She angled off to the right, and for an instant she slowed, her nose dropping down to the snow beneath her paws. But then she was racing again, snow spurting up from beneath her paws, head lowered, tail streaming out behind her. Galchyl hesitated, watching her as she dropped to a trot, nose once more dipping down to brush the snow as she circled a shaft of wood jutting from a wave of snow – a shaft of wood that, at first glance, Galchyl had thought was but another branch, but as he looked at it again, felt that something was amiss.

Galchyl was already hurrying toward the shaft when his hound lifted her head and raced straight for him. When she reached him, she circled him twice in quick succession, before meeting his eyes, ears pricked forward. And Galchyl knew then for certain that she had found something.

"Show me," he ordered. The hound whirled and dashed back toward the shaft, this time with Galchyl following close behind. She pulled up sharp at the wooden tooth, turning in a tight circle as if she was chasing her tail, whining quietly. Then she began to dig, paws sending snow flying.

"Back, Laechen," Galchyl ordered, stepping forward. "Back." With another whine, the hound obeyed her master, taking a half-step away from the shaft and the small hole she had begun. "Good girl," Galchyl murmured, although he only half-understood what he was saying, for he had bent to get a closer look at the wooden shaft.

The shaft was no tree branch. The wood had been smoothed, then overlaid with barely discernible carvings of twisting vines and flowers. The top of the stave had been shattered, leaving behind a jagged mess of splinters, which Galchyl had initially mistook to be the branch's tip.

Galchyl reached out and hesitantly grasped the stave. The wood was cold and covered in tiny particles of ice, making his grip slippery. Galchyl tensed, and he then gave a mighty heave. Wood cracked, ice grated. And then, with a crunch, the stave came free.

Galchyl ran his hands the full length of the staff, feeling the engravings even through his gloves. He closed his eyes, hands tightening about the wood, battling to keep his emotions in check – emotions which he did not even fully understand. Was it relief? Or was it anger? Fear? Hope? Despair?

"Captain?"

Galchyl turned to see a number of his men gathered behind him. They had seen Laechen give the alert and their captain hurry after her, and had come to see what had been found.

Galchyl held out the staff for the others to see. Arfaron, who was one of the half dozen who had come, took it first. His eyes widened as he examined it, and then he turned to the others, showing it to his companions.

"A standard shaft alone means little," Hilthor, one of the forward scouts said after he had handed the staff to the Elf beside him, sounding as if he was grasping at hope that he did not truly have.

"We searched for a sign," Arfaron countered when Galchyl made no reply. "This is the first that we have found – what else can it mean?"

"But…"

Laechen whined at Galchyl's feet. He glanced down at her, brow furrowed. She looked up at her master, ears pricked, the same worry in her liquid brown eyes that had plagued them moments before. "Show me," Galchyl said quietly.

Laechen leapt to her feet and returned to the hole she had begun to dig. She set to it furiously, paws scrabbling against ice and snow, sending clumps tumbling to either side as she buried deeper. Abruptly, she halted digging and instead reached down into the hole she had made, baring her teeth as she made to seize something buried therein. She gave a tug, and then a jerk, before releasing whatever it was she held, and began to dig once more.

"Back, Laechen," Galchyl ordered for the second time in as many minutes. This time she did not heed him, instead continuing to dig energetically. Galchyl reached down and, seizing the scruff of her neck, bodily hauled her away before looking down into the hole for himself.

Galchyl stilled, the frigid breath momentarily stilling in his lungs, as if it had been frozen. He knelt, seizing the forefinger of his glove between his teeth and then pulling it off of his hand, then reached down.

The hand, nearly as white as the snow beneath it yet tinged with unsettling blue, was frozen nearly solid. There was no warmth to be felt in the skin whatsoever, and as Galchyl pulled the sleeve of the tunic away from the wrist, the cloth cracked as ice snapped. No pulse was to be found.

Galchyl stood, pulling his glove back on, and then turned. Facing Arfaron and the other Elves that had gathered Galchyl spoke at last.

"We have our proof," he said. "Hilthor," he turned, addressing the fleet-footed Elf, "go and inform Captain Cruston and his men that we have found the party." The scout snapped a sharp salute, before turning and sprinting back toward the edge of the cliff. Galchyl turned to regard the others with his calm, steady gaze.

"We have our proof," Galchyl repeated. "We search now for survivors." The Elves nodded curtly, and then dispersed, some going to inform the others of their company of what had been discovered, and the rest beginning their search anew.

Galchyl watched them go, one hand on Laechen's head. "Now the real hunt begins."

~oOo~

_To be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** As promised, here is chapter 2! Thank you all to everyone who has shown support, most especially Neiroel, GreyLynx, Lalaith, and Reader, but also to all who have alerted and/or favorited! Your support and encouragement truly means a lot to me. I would love any and all feedback that you may have, even if it is a simple "I liked it." One can only improve if you know what is good, and what can be improved upon-and I'm always looking for ways to improve my writing. The plan is to post the third chapter on Monday. Most importantly, I hope that you enjoy the chapter!

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_**~Chapter 2~**_

_**Skinner. Oh Skinner.**__ The singsong voice spliced through the air, wrapping around and through Elrond's mind like a thin, burning wire. It was worse than the smile; worse even than the chuckle. That singing voice, lilting and slithering, cutting into his mind and his thoughts like a burning needle. _

_**Can you feel the darkness, Skinner?**__ The voice had dropped into little more than a hissing whisper. __**Can you feel the darkness creeping up over you?**__ And then the chuckle ran from the beast's mouth, battering and pounding. Perhaps the singsong was not so bad as the chuckle. __**Soon…soon… Soon you will be mineeeeeee.**__ The last word ended his a deep, throaty rasp, and the yellow-eyed shadow leaned down, leering unpleasantly, tongue flickering and burning across his teeth._

Elrond turned his head away_, determined not to give the beast any indication of the fear that trickled through his veins like molten gold. He could not, however, hide the _trembling. And he was cold, oh so cold.

_A screech, wild and furious. __**Skinner!**__ the beast howled, lunging over Elrond so that it was crouched over him, like a great, winged bat hovering over his prone body, blotting out that cursed blue light. __**Skinner, look at me,**__ the beast shrieked. __**The game is forfeit if you ignore me,**__ it snarled._

_Talons latching onto his face pulling his head around, back to the front._ Elrond could barely feel the pain as _the talons dug into his flesh,_ could only feel the warmth of the blood as it began to trickle down his cheek. _**Look at me Skinner**__, the beast crooned. __**Look at me…**_

Elrond closed his eyes, _some part of his inner being revolting at the idea of obeying such a monstrosity – and what even __was__ this monster? He had never heard tell of a beast like this._

Pain in his side. Piercing, digging pain that grew more intense with each passing second. _Talons, talons digging into his side, just above his hip. __**Look at me, Skinner! Or I shall take your hand in recompense.**_

_Elrond's eyes snapped open, and he glared at the monster. "That was not one of the rules," he grated. His voice was harsh, and his throat ached. It felt as if the words were knives – knives with blades that sliced his throat when he spoke._

_The beast grinned gleefully. __**It is now,**__ he said. And that flickering, hissing, gleaming tongue slithered out of the beast's cavernous maw. __**Stay focused, or else…**__ Tearing, piercing, ripping. The feel of talons sliding through his flesh – tearing through muscle, cracking bone, piercing skin – and then out his back._

_He screamed._ And jolted, twisting. One hand reaching blindly, in the franticness of his agony ignoring the sensation of flesh being shredded from wrist, palm, arm, the bone-deep ache. Fingers touching wood slickened with blood, the slivers of bark protruding from his side. The blue light all around, but blue light marked with long staves of shadow, and fringes of darkness. And the cold, oh the cold! Darkness creeping…

_Burning across his face. But was it the burn of fire or ice? Elrond jerked, and the blue-shadow world jolted back to shadow beast and the light of the abyss, wood to talon. Elrond gasped, trying to remember what it meant to breathe._

_**Careful there, Skinner,**__ the beast cackled, and flexed its talons, sending waves of agony through Elrond's entire torso. __**You almost blacked out.**__ The grin. Then the chuckle, fey and gleeful, echoing around the walls of their prison._

_**You can feel it, can't you Skinner?**__ The beast was whispering, leaning closer, closer, closer to Elrond's ear. The darkness loomed above, blotting out more and more of the light. __**Can't you feel the darkness taking you?**__ The tip of the monster's tongue flicking out to brush Elrond's ear, burning – but was it fire or ice that burned?_

"No," Elrond panted, struggling to breathe_ as the beast came closer and closer, pressing down on his chest, his stomach, his throat. The monster reared, throwing its head back, and laughed. And it was a laugh, not a chuckle. Like the deafening tumble of rocks down a cliff-side, and the cracking of a tree struck by lightning; like the howl of a winter blizzard, and the howls of wolves and ravens and ghosts._

_Elrond winced, and fought to block his ears from the dreadful sound. What beast could sound like that? What monster could have mastery over such pain with a single sound?_

_**Yes,**__ the beast smirked, leaning closer once more. __**Oh yes, Skinner. Your time is almost up.**__ It leaned closer, opening its mouth wide, breathing into him. And Elrond could feel the darkness oozing from the beast seeping into his eyes, his mouth, his nose, the shadow dragging him down as it stole into thought._

"_Who are you?" Elrond cried, desperately searching, in his last panicked moments of lucidity, to find something to keep the monster away from him, to distract it._

_The beast drew back, and its mouth closed slightly. Its yellow eyes gleamed in the darkness. The shadow pulsed. And then it spoke. __**You wish to know who I am**__. Its tone was mocking, humorous. __**Why ever would the mouse wish to know the name of the cat?**_

"_Have you never heard of the game of "cat and mouse"?" Elrond asked._

_The beast hesitated, and then pulled away, although his claws curled into Elrond's side. Elrond gasped and coughed, panting as he fought to draw in enough air into his bruised, battered, and aching lungs._

_**You are wise for a mouse**__, the beast chuckled. But this time, the chuckle somehow did not seem quite so abrasive as it had before. __**Very well, I will grant your wish,**__ the monster said. __**I will tell you who I am. But even this reprieve will not save you. You will not be able to hold to thought strong enough to save you for long.**_

_That smile. Wide, with teeth gleaming in the darkness. Yellow eyes flared. __**So who am I?**__ Talons opening, closing, opening, closing… __**Why, I am the rock, and the tree; I am the ice, and the snow; I am the wind, and the dirt. I am the roots, I am the peak. I am all, yet I am nothing. I am the cavern and the height. I am the Orcs that nest in my bowels, and the goats that climb upon my shoulders. I am greater than you, Star-child,**__ and here the beast smiled all the wider, __**yes, I know who you are, Star-child. I am greater than you, and I am greater than that valley you call a haven. With one leap, I could crush you beneath an avalanche of stone and snow. I am immortal – only time will ever conquer me, and by then even **__**you**__** shall be gone from my slopes.**_

_**I am Caradhras.**_

~oOo~

Torchlight flickered eerily across the snow, throwing dark, glittering, dancing shadows hither and thither like wanton ghouls. The wind hammered the plateau, keening and shrieking as it battered against the cliff walls, tumbling back and forth as it cavorted on the edge of the precipice, howling as it rattled through the gap that was the Lower Pass. The clouds overhead boiled darkly, masking any faint gleam of starlight or moonlight, and gathering ominously thicker by the hour.

Cruston trudged slowly toward one of the three great fires that burned at the inner side of the plateau, mostly sheltered from the wind by the towering cliffs. He shivered as he drew near to the flames, the chill of the back more pronounced as the heat of the fire washed over his numbed face and freezing front. The ground squelched beneath his boots, the warmth of the flames melting the snow to a muddy mush.

Figures, both Man and Elf, moved about the fire, their faces cast into shadow by the brightness of the flames directly behind them. Some knelt, others paced, and still more simply stood as near to the flames as they could, warming themselves, much as Cruston himself intended to do. On the far side of the burning logs, Cruston could make out a number of Men lying down or sitting huddled, wrapped tightly in blankets. He could not help but smile with tired relief – at least not all of the party had been destroyed. _More have been found dead than alive, _he reminded himself. He instantly sought to put the thought out of his mind – it would do none of the survivors any good for him to despair, especially those still awaiting rescue.

Cruston walked around to the far side of the fire, eager to see who had been rescued. It had been many hours since he last had come to the fire, and he hoped that more had been brought in since then.

He was seen and greeted by one of the injured first. "Captain Cruston," the man called out, turning and raising a hand in greeting. His face was bloodied, and his fingers and hands were tightly bandaged, giving Cruston reason to believe that, should he peel back the layers of pristine white cloth, he would find blue and black skin.

"Baltar," Cruston replied, stepping forward with a warm smile. "It is good to see you." Others turned as well, hearing their companion's salutation, and the captain's reply. More calls of welcome were given, and with a smile and a kind word, Cruston replied to them all.

At last, when all had been greeted, and he had answered every question, and made every reassurance, Cruston turned away, and crossed over to the fire. He was shivering again, and he longed to soak up the warmth of the brightly burning flames.

"Captain Cruston." With a sigh, Cruston turned toward the new speaker. To his surprise, he found himself looking up at one of the Elvish healers. The Elf was holding a tin mug that steamed lightly, and a plate of toasted bread topped with thawed jerky. Without another word, the Elf handed the food and drink to Cruston, and then turned to leave.

Cruston took a deep drink of the liquid in the mug, and found it to be a thin, but delightfully warm tea that tasted vaguely of mint. He sighed, this time in contentment, as he lowered the mug. It was only then that he saw that the Elf had not left as he had supposed, but had rather turned, and was now watching him with the unsettling gaze that seemed to be an intrinsic characteristic of the elder race.

Cruston raised an eyebrow at the Elf, then hurriedly swallowed his large gulp of tea. "Is there something you wish to ask of me?" he asked. He was not entirely certain if such a question was entirely appropriate for him to ask, but at the moment he was beyond care for all propriety.

The Elf hesitated, fidgeted, and Cruston was struck with the strangest impression that the Elf was nervous and uncertain himself. At last he spoke, and Cruston banished all idea that the healer had been nervous, for his words and voice were firm and steady.

"Is there word of Lords Elrond or Glorfindel?" the healer asked.

Cruston's shoulders drooped. He should have been expecting such a question, he thought, but even so it came like a blow. Regretfully he shook his head. "I fear not," he replied. "But only a portion of the plateau has been searched."

"And what of Prince Atanatar?" Cruston could not quite hide every shred of surprise at this second question, and he glanced up at the Elf.

"No, none," he said.

"You are taken aback by my question," the healer noted without question. Cruston did not reply. "Why?"

The Elf sounded genuinely curious. And perhaps – just perhaps – confused. "You worry for a child not of your own people, even whilst your own lord and captain are missing," was Cruston's response. He shrugged, accidentally slopping some of his tea onto his hand. He cursed, quickly bending his head to suck up the liquid before it soaked into his glove.

"Of course," the healer replied. "Not only is he the prince of your people, but he is also a child." The healer glanced out toward the darkened plateau, where only the glimmer of torchlight showed where the searchers were still seeking. "I pray that he is safely found," the healer added, and then without another word, turned and left Cruston to his thoughts.

Cruston was silent as he took a bite of bread and jerky, chasing it down with another great gulp of tea. Before the last month, he had never once met an Elf, and of the stories he had been told, he had expected them to be noble, aloof, and somehow above common interaction. And perhaps they were, he mused, particularly the eldest of them. But somehow, they were more than that as well. They were kind and thoughtful, even as they had an air of ancient wisdom that no mortal could ever dream of obtaining. They were as warm and full of passion as any Man Cruston had met, even as they were distant and aloof. Yes, he was surprised – but pleasantly so.

The captain smiled, finishing his last bite of toast, and the last dregs of the tea. Glancing around and seeing nothing else to do with the mug and plate, he placed them down on a stone by his feet, hoping that someone would find them to clean them. Then, wrapping his cloak tightly about his shoulders once more, Cruston set out away from the fire and back towards the snowfield.

The search had begun again.

~oOo~

_To Be Continued..._


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Thank you so very much to everyone who has been reading and supporting this story! All of your reviews and kind words truly mean more than words can say. Neiroel, Lalaith, nosmaeth, and GreyLynx, thank you all yet again for the reviews! For all who have favorite and/or alerted, my thanks to you as well, and I am glad that you are enjoying! To all of my lurking readers, I hope that you too are enjoying the tale, and I would _love _to hear from you. The final update will be uploaded on Friday, I do believe. In the meantime, I hope that you all enjoy!

* * *

_**~Chapter 3~**_

Breathe in. Breathe out. The pain cannot last forever. Breathe in. Breathe out. He wanted to scream. But no, no, that would take too much air – air that he did not have even to breathe in the first place. Wince, writhe. Anything to shake away the pain. The pain in his head, in his chest. The pain in his side _where the ivory talons curled and uncurled, curled and uncurled…_The pain in his hand and his legs. And the cold, oh the cold!

_**Look at you, pitiful and weak. Lying there, cold and afraid, and delirious with pain.**__ Rolling, ebbing, pounding chuckle pouring from between jagged teeth. __**And you, believed to be such a powerful Elf lord. A child of stars.**__ The spirit sneered._

Elrond gasped, panted. Vision blurred. Coughed, and tasted blood. _Blood, blood everywhere. Coating him, dripping down the blue light that he gasped and tried to breathe. He was drowning, drowning as the blood dripped into his mouth and down his throat, into his lungs._

_**Fight, Skinner. Fight,**__ the spirit cackled maliciously. __**So weak, so weak. So crunchy and sweet. **__A single talon trailing down to brush against his cheek, ripping at the already torn flesh. __**All they'll find will be your gnawed bones and bloody clothes. If they find you at all. Which is, in all truth, unlikely. You'll be trapped here forever. Mine forever. **_

"_Forever, and for all eternity… I love you, Elrond, for forever, and for all eternity." Warm skin pressed against his. Silver hair tumbling down her back in soft ringlets, eyes as blue as ice, yet as warm as the summer sky. Laughter as she twirled, as she danced beneath the silver stars. The taste of her upon his lips, the feel of her in his arms. "I love you Elrond…"_

"No. You cannot keep me here."

_A long, drawn out pause as yellow eyes blazed. __**What did you say, Skinner?**_

"I said no, you cannot keep me here. I will not allow it." His voice softer than a whisper, not even audible to his own ears _yet the spirit hissed with fury._

_**No?!**__ it screeched, like the sound of rock being shorn in half._ Weight crushing him, compressing. _But the spirit moved not, only gnashed its teeth and swung back and forth in agitation. So why could he not breathe? _Darkness stealing in over his eyes, taking his senses.

"_Ada, Ada!" Two identical faces running toward him in the hall, arms outstretched. "Ada, come and see what we made!" Two hands tugging at both of his, pulling him along. "Ada!" Laughter and giggles as two tiny bodies slammed into his, tackling him to the floor with many over-exaggerated war cries. "Love you, Ada."_

"_Ada, take me with you?" Silver eyes, so much like his own, yet with their mother's warmth looking up at him beseechingly. Dark hair flying behind her as she danced beneath the silver stars, laughing and singing with joy. "Ada, I love you."_

Noise, like cries coming from underwater – or was he underwater? – and heavier, heavier. He could not breathe. Something scrabbling overhead _but still the spirit did not move, only listened and waited._ Cries. He could feel that something was moving at his legs, but nothing more. Did it hurt? Was it warm? Was it cold? He could not say.

A hiccupping cry, and then a wild wail of fear and pain. Something writhing in the crook of his right arm.

"_Adaaaa!" A hiccupping cry, and then a wail of fear and pain. A toddler running toward him on chubby legs, arms outstretched, long, curly hair flopping across his forehead, but not quite able to cover his rounded ears. "Ada, Eldan and Elrir pushded me." A small head nestling against his shoulder, a thumb creeping toward a small, puckered mouth. "I wub you, Ada."_

"Estel…" Darkness all around, oh so close, and creeping closer with every second. Pushing, digging at his side. An explosion of light – but it was not blue, or even black, but orange and gold and painful, oh so painful.

_A grin, wild and fey, as old as time, as deep as the mountain, yet not, somehow, malevolent. Not this time. __**Farewell, Skinner,**__ the spirit said, but its voice was soft, and somehow it no longer pained Elrond quite so much. __**Until we meet again, Star-child.**_

And everything went dark.

~oOo~

Galchyl walked slowly, eyes sweeping across the snow before him. He carried a torch in his left hand, holding it high above his head so as to shed light over the ground before him, and in his right he carried an ice pick. Laechen paced by his side, pushing onwards relentlessly, nose to the ground and paw steps never once faltering despite the droop of her tail.

Nine hours. Nine hours it had been since they had begun the search of the plateau, and eight since Cruston and his men had joined them. Nine hours, and the bitterest hours of the night were nearly upon them, the cold of the air so severe that, even between the gusts of wind, Galchyl shivered.

_How could any still survive?_ Galchyl wondered morosely, staggering as his toe caught on the tip of a branch cloaked in just thin enough a layer of snow that, in his exhausted state, he had not seen it. _Even protected by the blanket of snow, how could any, even an Elf, survive these conditions for so long?_

A day – it had been nearly a full day since the avalanche had struck the party. Chance alone – or perhaps it had been Providence – had saved all from being caught in the wave of snow that had tumbled down from the mountain peak. A savage snowstorm – one that they had cursed vehemently at the time – had caught them unawares on the slopes of Caradhras earlier in the week. Their food stores depleted, Lord Elrond had organized a hunting party to stay a day after, for the forest that they had sought refuge in was the only place upon the mountain that game thrived during the winter months. Lord Elrond, Glorfindel, Captain Volcar – who had been granted guardianship of the young prince Atanatar – the young prince himself, and a third of their men had continued on toward the pass. The urgency to reach Rivendell was too great, Lord Elrond had determined, that they remain behind an extra day with the young child.

But then the avalanche had struck. From the slopes beneath, Galchyl and his men could see the billow of snow tumbling down the mountain like a great tidal wave of fog and mist. They could feel the earth tremble beneath them, and the screaming of the trees as they were torn from their places and sent rushing and tumbling, caught in a vortex of snow and ice, and all the might and power of the mountain.

Refuge had been found against the bluffs that lined the forest, and the hunting party had escaped with no damage. But, knowing that the same could not be stated for the others, they had forsaken the hunt and ascended the mountain as quickly as they dared, searching as best as they could when it became evident that the avalanche had touched the land.

Dimly, Galchyl felt a prickling of cold against his leg where, before that, Laechen had been walking. Frowning, he turned to look for his hound. He found her behind him, pawing at the branch that had tripped him.

"Laechen, what is it girl?" Galchyl asked, retracing his steps. In response, the hound began to dig with both paws. "Is something there?" Laechen just whined uncertainly, but she continued to dig nonetheless.

Crouching down, Galchyl planted the butt of his torch into the snow a few paces away, and then joined Laechen in digging. He did not know what it was she thought she may have found, but she thought that she had found something. Anything was worth the attempt.

Deeper they dug, building small mounds to either side as the snow flew. And then Laechen paused as her nails scratched against bark. She bent her head, shoving her nose into the small gap between branch and snow.

Jerking her head back, Laechen looked quickly at her master, and then began to whine furiously. Turning back, she began to dig fervently, whining all the while. Her tail, which had heretofore been nearly touching the surface of the snow, attempted to wag half-heartedly, even as she struggled to dig all the faster.

Scrambling upright, Galchyl seized the torch and, lifting it, began to wave it over his head, signaling they had found something and requested assistance. Almost at once, he saw three lights begin to move toward him.

"Who is it?" one of them called as they drew near. "Who have you found?"

"I do not know," Galchyl replied once the other two had hurried up as well. "They are trapped beneath a branch."

"Well then, let us free them." Galchyl glanced at the speaker with some surprise, not having noticed that Cruston was one of those who had come. Galchyl nodded once.

Together, the site lit by the torches, the five of them – plus Laechen – began to dig. As more and more snow was shoveled away, it became apparent that it was more than just a branch that covered the victim, however – a massive pine slowly took shape beneath the layer of snow, some of the needles on its innermost branches even still clinging on tenaciously.

"Laechen, where is he?" Galchyl asked, bending down beside the panting hound as the others drew back. They suspected that the person was hidden somewhere within the branches, but without more tools and manpower, it would be nigh impossible to find them. They only hoped that the hound would have better luck. "Show me."

Laechen stood slowly, and then with a bound full of energy that Galchyl had thought had long left her, she wriggled into the branches. Scuffling, scraping, and the cracking of wood followed the hound's path as she tunneled deeper into the nest of branches. She fell silent for a long moment, and Galchyl held his breath, anxiety welling up in his heart as the second dragged by.

And then Laechen began to whine piteously. It was frantic and desperate, and very close to a bark. She was telling them to _hurry._

"Wait for me," Galchyl barked, leaning down to pick up his ice pick. It would not work so well as a hatchet, but it would suffice to break frozen branches if the need became dire. With that, he leapt forward, twisting into the tangle of branches himself.

It was a tight fit, with broken branches hanging down in every which direction, forming a nearly impossible labyrinth of shattered back and pulverized limb. Slivers of wood dug at Galchyl's face and tangled in his hair, but he paid them little heed as he pushed onward. Lifting the ice pick, he hacked at the branches that could not be navigated around, sending a shower of splinters and snow raining down on him. He pushed onward through the darkness, intent only upon reaching Laechen.

The hound was suddenly at his side, as if having been called by his thoughts. She wriggled, nosing him affectionately, before turning and crawling a few paces farther, deeper into the tree. Galchyl followed, pulling himself forward with one hand.

He halted when he felt Laechen's fur at his fingers. The branches pushed down on him from above, and snow beyond that. They had come farther than he had expected – very nearly to the other side of the tree.

With a deep breath, Galchyl drove his ice pick up against wood and snow. The branch above his head cracked. He withdrew the pick, and then drove it upwards again, smashing the iron against the sturdy branch. A second crack, this time louder. Again, and again. And then, with one final, mighty, snap, the branch gave way, tumbling to one side. A shower of snow fell in on them, drowning them until Galchyl lunged upward, sending his ice pick out of the snow and into the air above.

He could hear shouts as the others, who had been waiting, saw the pick and ran toward him. Quickly, and with his help, they dug him and Laechen out.

"He is here," Galchyl gasped, shaking his head to clear the snow from his hair. He took a single step to the right, and then drove the handle of his pick into the snow.

One of the men went for the torches, while the others knelt and, once more, began shoveling snow. Almost before their companion had returned with the torches, however, Cruston felt his arm break through, and he gave a shout.

"There is an air pocket here," he cried, heaving aside a block of snow. "Quickly, bring the torch."

Cruston seized the torch and brought it close to the hole he had made, revealing a small chasm of space beneath an interlocking lattice of branches that had held up the snow. The space was little more than enough for a single man to fit in if he lay on his back, with only the barest amount of room that could be spared for breathing. Without another word, the five rescuers began to dig vigorously.

His legs were uncovered first. A broken branch had fallen across his shins, pinning his legs to the hard-packed snow beneath him, and with a sickened feeling in his stomach, Galchyl suspected that both were broken, although how badly he could not be certain. They dared not try to move the branch, though, for fear of causing more damage.

Laechen abruptly began whining, shaking her head back and forth. Galchyl glanced at her in concern. But whatever thought he may have had was driven utterly from his mind as, a heartbeat after, there came a piteous cry from just beneath the snow – a cry that sounded unmistakably like that of a child.

Cruston went utterly still, the blood draining out of his face. And then he was moving with more energy than he had displayed almost all day, throwing himself down above where the cry had come from, and frantically beginning to claw the snow away.

"There is a branch in the way," Cruston grunted, as his fingers struck the rough bark. "Help me." Wordlessly, Galchyl knelt and, squeezing his arms into the hold alongside Cruston's, latched his fingers into grooves in the pine bark. "On three."

With a grunt and a heave, the two strained up. For an instant nothing moved, and then the branch cracked, and the snow began to shift. With one final heave, the two captains pulled the branch up, away from the space they had been clearing. They tossed it off to the side, and the large, heavy limb gave a mighty thud as it struck the snow, and then rolled away down the slope.

No one gave the branch a second's glance, however, for every gaze was fastened upon that which they had, at last, and seemingly beyond all hope, found.

Lord Elrond lay within the hollow, eyes closed, head lolling limply back against the snow, and yet another branch lying across his left side and over his right shoulder. And there, nestled into the crook of his right arm, curled up within his one-armed embrace, wrapped with the Elf lord's cloak, lay Prince Atanatar. He squirmed, bringing one arm up to shield his eyes from the abrasive glow of the torches, and crying weakly and pitifully.

"Send for stretchers," Galchyl ordered curtly, his normally calm voice clipped. The only other Elf among the group turned and raced away. Without another word, he dropped down into the small, hollowed space that they had uncovered, and knelt.

"Hush, child," the Elf murmured, reaching for the prince. The boy initially flinched when he felt Galchyl touch him, but an instant later he was reaching for the Elf feebly, still mewling faintly. Galchyl took the young Human into his arms, lifting him out of Elrond's hold, and hugging the child tightly to his chest. "Hush, child," Galchyl soothed again, before standing.

Cruston hurried forward, and opened his arms in a silent invitation. Galchyl nodded his thanks, and then handed the young child over to the captain, who quickly enveloped the prince in his own cloak, before turning and all but breaking into a sprint toward the nearest fire.

But Galchyl hardly even noticed Cruston's departure, for as soon as he had been relieved of his burden, he had knelt again by his lord's side. Reaching down, Galchyl pulled off his gloves, and then took Elrond's right hand. Turning over his arm, Galchyl put two fingers to the inside of the Elf lord's wrist.

His skin was warm – almost hot – very nearly causing Galchyl to jerk his hand away with surprise. But he regained control over his own body, and closing his eyes, Galchyl listened – listened for the thrum and beat of a heartbeat in Lord Elrond's wrist.

Nothing but silence, and even as Galchyl knelt there, hand about Elrond's wrist, he felt the warmth in the Peredhel's flesh begin to seep away.

"No," Galchyl muttered savagely, dropping Elrond's wrist, and moving up to kneel by his shoulder. Carefully Galchyl moved his lord's head, and placed the same two fingers against his jugular. His skin was ice cold – so cold that Galchyl thought that he could feel the warmth being leeched from his own fingertips and into Elrond's skin.

But there! Just barely the faintest brush of a pulse beat against Galchyl's fingertips, thready, weak, and so gentle that he could have imagined it but that, a half second later, he heard the nearly inaudible sigh of breath from between the Elf lord's lips.

"He lives!" Galchyl cried. "Quickly though, unless we can warm him, he will not live much longer."

Galchyl felt two others drop into the cramped hole, and come up behind him. "Tell us how we can help," one of the two Men said.

Galchyl glanced around, first at the far side of the small hole, and then at the two Men. "That branch," the captain said, nodding to the tree limb that lay across Elrond's side and shoulder. "Move it."

One of the Men hoisted himself out of the hole and hurried to kneel above the offending branch. Meanwhile, the second Man carefully stepped around Galchyl to stand over Elrond, where he could bend down and grasp the branch laying across him.

Galchyl watched silently, his lord's hand grasped between both of his, as the two Men leaned over and grasped the branch. With a muttered "One, two, three," they pulled it up. It moved slowly at first, although Galchyl could not see why, for it appeared that there was no ice or other limb holding it in place. But then he heard one of the Men hiss, and the other curse. A sharp tug, and the branch was tugged free.

"What…" Galchyl began, but he was interrupted by the second Man as, turning, he unfastened his cloak and hurriedly knelt, wadding up the thick cloth and wrapping it around Elrond's side. Galchyl caught just a glimpse of mangled, bloody flesh and tattered cloth, and then the Man was pressing the makeshift bandage against the wound. Galchyl swallowed his question.

As soon as the first Man had dropped the branch off to the side, he rejoined his companions in the hole. He unfastened his own cloak, and as he knelt, he spread it over Elrond's prone form. "It won't do much," he said, "but it may help."

Galchyl could only nod, surprised, but nonetheless grateful by the two Human's acts of kindness. "It will not be enough though," Galchyl thought aloud.

Galchyl lay down, ignoring the bite of the cold snow as it seeped into his tunic, and then, lifting the edge of the first Man's cloak, pressed himself against Elrond's side. The Elf lord was shivering as Galchyl wrapped an arm around his stomach, trying to use every last flicker of warmth that could be spared. Movement on Elrond's other side caused Galchyl to glance up, and he watched as the Man holding his cloak to Elrond's side lay down as well, despite the fact that he was already shivering nearly as much as Elrond from the cold. The other Man hoisted himself out of the hole, saying something about watching for the stretchers.

"Hold on, my lord," Galchyl murmured, closing his eyes as he concentrated on giving ever last shred of warmth and light in his possession to his lord. He hardly even noticed when Laechen dropped down into the hole as well, and lay herself over Elrond's legs, above where they had been trapped by the branch, and rested her head on his hip.

~oOo~

_To Be Continued..._


	4. Epilogue

**A/N:** Thank you again to everyone who has been supporting this story! Neiroel, nosmaeth, Lalaith, and GreyLynx, my sincerest thanks yet again for your reviews. To all who have favorited and/or alerted, my thanks to you as well! And to all of my lurkers, thank you for reading, and I hope that you are enjoying the tale!

We have at last come to the end of the tale. This is the final chapter, and I sincerely hope that you all enjoy it. I would love to hear from you, even if it's a simple "I liked it," or even an "I didn't like it." I can only know what I can improve upon if I know what you all, as the readers, like and enjoy, or don't like quite so much. Thank you again for all of your amazing support. I hope you enjoy!

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**_~Epilogue~_**

Elrond returned to consciousness with aching slowness.

The first thing he was consciously aware of was the pain. His head, his chest, his legs, his side – everything hurt, hurt so badly he could barely breathe. His mind automatically retreated back toward the comforting grey of oblivion, shrinking away from the agony of consciousness.

"-my friend. Come now, awaken. Elrond…"

A groan. It took him a long moment to realize it had come from him. Another groan, although some part of his mind said that it was more of a moan or whimper than a groan.

"Easy there, Elrond. Take it slow."

He opened his eyes slowly, first just a crack. He felt blinded, and snapped them shut again, only to reopen them a moment later. This time, the light was a little more bearable, the grey sky above not seeming quite so blinding.

"There you are." Elrond turned his head ever so slightly, searching for the speaker.

Golden hair, a cheerful grin – despite the fact that his right arm was in a sling, and two neat rows of stitches marching across his forehead – and sparkling blue eyes that hid relief oh so well. "Glorfindel…?" Elrond croaked.

"Easy there, Elrond," Glorfindel cautioned. "You've been unconscious for nearly two days now. Give me a minute, and I'll find you some water."

Glorfindel stood and disappeared from sight, although Elrond could vaguely hear him calling for someone. Elrond took the opportunity to close his eyes and try to think. He could not, for some reason, remember where he was, or what had happened, or, most pressingly, just _why he hurt so much._

Glorfindel returned, sitting down cross-legged, and carrying a water skin in his left hand. He uncorked it with his teeth, then carefully held it to Elrond's lips, allowing a thin trickle of water to dribble into his mouth.

Elrond tried to swallow, coughed, and winced in pain. Something most definitely did _not_ feel right in his chest. Glorfindel tried again, this time allowing little more than a few drops to slide past Elrond's cracked lips to moisten his tongue. A few more droplets, then a few more, and then Elrond was able to take a proper drink.

"There," Glorfindel sighed, nimbly stoppering the flask once more.

"What happened?" Elrond asked, voice much improved, but still hoarse.

Glorfindel raised his eyebrows, but he gave no other outward sign of dismay or concern. Instead, after placing the water skin down by his knee, he told Elrond, "We were caught in an avalanche. You were badly injured, me not so much," and here he flashed a roguish grin, to which Elrond could not help but attempt a small smile of his own. "Unfortunately, not everyone was so lucky as us…"

A sudden flash of panic raced through Elrond, igniting his blood with fire and fear. He grappled desperately with his thoughts, trying to place them, to remember what it was that he had forgotten that was giving him such worry.

A little boy, dark curls bouncing, silver-blue eyes dancing. "Estel…" Elrond gasped. "Estel, is he...?" He found that he could not choke out the rest of the words, an unspeakable terror rising in his throat like bile.

"Hope?" Glorfindel asked, confused. "What of hope?" With a sudden flare of understanding sparking in his blue eyes, Glorfindel's face softened, and he reached out to grasp Elrond's hand.

"Elrond," he said softly, "you have been slipping in and out of hallucinations these past two days. Never fear, Hope has not forsaken either of us."

Elrond shook his head agitatedly – a movement he instantly regretted as his head gave a shriek of protest – but he stumbled as he tried to form the words. "No," he stuttered. "A…a boy. A boy named Estel."

Glorfindel frowned. "Do you mean Atanatar? He is safe," he assured his friend, before smiling. "You saved him, actually. If it were not for you, he would have been either frozen or bashed to death. As it is, the worst he has to suffer is mild frostbite on his fingers and toes."

"No…" Elrond mumbled, but even as he shook his head again – still not a very good idea it seemed – he felt his certainty slip away. The image which, for those few moments had seemed so clear, so very vivid and real, were slipping away like smoke through his fingers. "No," he whispered.

Elrond's head fell back against the blankets, and he closed his eyes. His breathing was labored, and somehow he seemed to be in more pain than he had been when he had awoken, if that was possible. He was not entirely certain that it was.

"Hush now, Elrond," Glorfindel murmured. "Sleep. Galchyl will be along soon, and I think if he does not see you at all improved, he very well may turn into a mother Pantheress. You know how he can be." Elrond gave that same, not-quite-there smile, not having the energy to even try to laugh. Glorfindel grinned as well. "I believe Cruston wishes to speak with you as well," he added. "To thank you, I think."

"Volcar?" Elrond asked, eyes still closed, his mind quickly drifting toward the peace of sleep.

"He did not survive," Glorfindel said softly. "They found his remains frozen in the snow yester-morning."

Elrond sighed sorrowfully. He had liked Volcar, who had had a quick wit, and a sharp tongue that seemed to have been made specifically for making puns. Gondor would suffer dearly for having lost one of its best Captains.

"For now, however," Glorfindel was saying, and Elrond resolutely dragged what little remained of his attention back to his seneschal, "that matters little. For now, you must rest. Sleep, Elrond; sleep and recover your strength."

Elrond needed no other urging, and ceased his struggle to stay awake. Within only a handful of seconds, before Glorfindel could even have leaned forward to check that his friend was obeying his command, Elrond had slid into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Above them, the peak shrouded in cloud and gleaming with snow, Caradhras stood silent watch.

~oOo~

_The End_


End file.
